the port, besprinkling gun and crew and fighting tackle, leaving great
drops that glistened like dew in the waning light of the lanterns.
Alongside, white-capped waves raced with the ship.

As the gloom lightened, the horizon spread, and presently, away in the
distance, a dark spot, like a smudge upon a gray background, became
visible. "Long Tommy," attached to my gun, leaned far out of the port
with an exclamation of excitement.

"By George! it's another ship," he added.

"We are in a nest of the Dagoes," cried young Potter, rather wildly. "We
have run into an ambuscade."

"You've got a great chance to become a dead hero," remarked the first
gun captain dryly.

Word was passed from above to break out more shell, and presently the
navigator slipped down the ladder and made a close inspection of the
different five-inch guns. As he went from crew to crew he gave whispered
instructions to the officers in charge.

"The old man expects trouble this trip," whispered Tommy. He coolly
stripped off his shirt and stood, half-naked, the muscles of his
athletic chest and arms gleaming like white marble in the uncertain
light. Most of us followed his example, and the spectacle of the swaying
groups of men, bared for action, added a dramatic tinge to the scene.

Below, the powerful engines throbbed with a pulsation that set every
bolt and joint creaking, the strident echoes of the firemen's shovels